Nan Ryan (45 page)

The Vicksburg newspaper,
The Daily Citizen
, now being published on wallpaper, expressed their opinion thus:

The great Ulysses
—
the Yankee Generalissimo, surnamed Grant
—
has expressed his intention of dining in Vicksburg on Sunday next and celebrating the 4th of July by a grand dinner and so forth. When asked if he would invite General Joe Johnston to join him, he said, ‘No! for fear there will be a row at the table!’ Ulysses must get into the city before he dines in it. The way to cook a rabbit is ‘first to catch the rabbit.’

Mrs. Bost returned to Hunter’s bedside every day, but he lay unconscious, never knowing she was there. She sat beside him, patting his hand and talking in soothing tones, and her heart broke as she looked at the lifeless form of the gentle young man who no longer knew her or himself.

On July 3, General John C. Pemberton, knowing all hope was gone, surrendered the city of Vicksburg to Union General Ulysses Grant.

“Kingdom came” on July 4, 1863. The siege was over. The Confederate general had surrendered. Hunter was spared the sight of the tragic fall of his beloved hometown. He was spared the tears streaming down the pale cheeks of the brave women of Vicksburg as they shook hands with the gaunt, defeated Confederate soldiers, their eyes downcast, shame and frustration written on their hollow-cheeked faces, tears shining in their eyes, forlorn, their uniforms tattered, their brave, proud hearts broken.

Hunter was spared the spectacle of all Confederate arms stacked in the center of the streets while a look to the north of the fallen city brought the sight of shining bayonets and sabers of the mighty Union army. Splendid in their clean blue uniforms, the Federals were led by General Grant himself over the Glass Bayou bridge while the river front presented a view of Union transports, gunboats, and broadsides, their flags flying grandly, saluting a victory dearly won.

Hunter was spared the sound of the might Union soldiers marching into the city, their field bands playing “The Star Spangled Banner”. They streamed over the stacked guns of the Confederacy, over the breastworks, through the dazed, defeated Rebs, right down Jackson Road. He was spared the agonizing sight of the Stars and Stripes flying high from the cupola of the courthouse, where once the flag of the Confederacy had proudly flown. He was spared the shouts and cheers of the mighty hosts moving in to claim his hometown for their own. He was spared the shame of the white flags of surrender flying high over the works and he shed no bitter tears for a battle gallantly fought and lost through starvation. Hunter was spared this last crushing humiliation. He was unconscious on this hot, muggy 4th of July, mercifully unaware that the “cause” was lost and life in his beloved hometown would never again be the same.

July 4, 1863

The Daily Citizen

Two days bring about great changes. The banner of the Union floats over Vicksburg. General Grant has ‘caught the rabbit’; he has dined in Vicksburg, and he did bring his dinner with him. The Citizen lives to see it. For the last time it appears on ‘wallpaper.’ No more will it eulogize the luxury of mule meat and fricasseed kitten
—
urge southern Warriors to such diet nevermore. This is the last edition, and is, excepting this note, from types as we found them. It will be valuable hereafter as a curiosity
.

At the end of the long, hot, heartbreaking day, Mrs. Bost went to visit Hunter. A dark young man occupied the bed now and Rachel grabbed a young surgeon by the arm, demanding to know where the blond young man who had occupied the bed had been taken.

“Ma’am, I have no idea. I would presume, if he is no longer in his bed, he has passed away. Now, please excuse me, I’m very busy.”

Rachel stumbled from the tent, shocked and heartbroken. Just outside the tent opening, a barrel containing discarded bandages and refuse blocked her path. Atop the heap, a blood-stained yellow sash lay amid the other trash, its discolored tail blowing gently in the summer breeze. The initials,
H. S. A
., were neatly embroidered on it, the navy blue letters showing plainly through the caked blood. Rachel vividly remembered seeing it on Hunter’s slim middle the morning he had called her to his tent. Her blunt-fingered hand slowly pulled the sash from its resting place, as she whispered, “My poor Hunter. Probably buried in one of the mass graves, no stone marking where he lies. Lord have mercy on his soul.”

The blood-stained sash held tightly in her hand, Rachel Bost walked wearily home. She was met with more heartbreak when she arrived. Blue-coated soldiers were swarming all over the yard and in her house. She walked past them without a word and into the large drawing room. She dropped into her favorite rocker and slowly rocked back and forth, the sash across her lap, dry-eyed, while the despised Yankees roamed through every room of the big mansion where she had lived since her husband brought her there as a bride when she was a girl of seventeen.

“The Gibraltar of the West” had fallen!

Thirty-three

Dodging Yankee gunboats and snipers on the shores, the
Diana Mine
steamed down the Mississippi River, Big Sam at the wheel, determined to get his gravely injured captain and Kathleen safely home to Natchez. The boat’s hull damaged from a rain of Union bullets, the boat limped to the pier at Natchez in the early morning hours of June 26.

Kathleen pounded on the door of Rembert Pitt’s home while Sam stood behind her, Dawson, still unconscious, in his big arms.

“Doctor Pitt, open up, please,” Kathleen shouted in desperation. “Uncle Rembert, it’s Kathleen. Wake up!”

A light appeared in an upstairs window just as Rembert’s old servant, Walt, opened the door to peer at the nighttime intruders.

“Walt, get Doctor Pitt, hurry!” Kathleen shouted at the surprised servant.

Rembert was descending the stairs, tying his bathrobe, “See here, what’s going on?” he demanded.

“Doctor Pitt, it’s Kathleen, you must help us. Dawson Blakely’s been shot, he’s barely alive.” The old doctor looked at Kathleen, bewildered, while she stood in Dawson’s white shirt, pleading, “Hurry, Uncle Rembert, he’s near death.”

“Bring him in my office,” Doctor Pitt walked away, with Sam following, carrying Dawson to a clean white table in the center of the room.

Completely awake now, Dr. Pitt rolled up the sleeves of his blue bathrobe and began scrubbing his hands. Kathleen stood at the table beside Dawson, touching the cold cheek and whispering, “Dawson, Doctor Pitt will help you. Hold on a little longer, the doctor will save you, dear.”

Dr. Pitt eyed Kathleen standing over the man who had once been her suitor. She stood there in a man’s white shirt, tenderly touching the wounded man’s cheek and calling him dear. Kathleen raised her eyes and met the Doctor’s, offering no explanation. Refusing to leave Dawson’s side, she remained and watched Doctor Pitt remove the bullet buried deep in Dawson’s chest. Slowly, methodically the doctor worked, giving rapid fire commands to Kathleen which she hurriedly obeyed. Poking and probing, the skillful doctor at last raised the menacing bullet up for her to see, “He’s lucky, if the bullet had been one half inch more to the left, it would have hit the heart.”

“Oh, thank God,” Kathleen breathed. “Will he make it, Uncle Rembert?”

“I don’t know yet, he’s lost too much blood. Luckily, he is a big, strong man in excellent health; that will help a lot.” He began bandaging Dawson’s chest.

“When will he wake up? Will it be a long time?”

“That’s impossible to say, Kathleen. He will need to be watched closely for the next couple of days. If he lives that long, he should be out of danger.”

“Can he stay here until he regains consciousness? Wouldn’t it be dangerous to move him?”

The doctor hesitated for a minute, looked down at the wounded man on the table, then said, “I suppose he’d better stay, but I’m much too busy to watch him all the time.”

“I’ll watch him, Uncle Rembert, I want to.” Rembert was staring at her and she could read his disapproving expression. “Please let me explain,” Kathleen looked into Rembert’s eyes. “The first thing I want to tell you is that I made it to Vicksburg, I saw Hunter, and he’s fine. I love your nephew very much, Doctor Pitt, I hope you believe me. If you don’t, there’s nothing I can do about it and it doesn’t matter too much because Hunter knows I love him.” The old doctor raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. “Hunter and I have worked out all our differences and when he comes home we will spend the rest of our lives together, I assure you. As for Dawson, he saved my life, Uncle Rembert. When Daniel and I left Vicksburg, we had hardly gotten away from the city before we were attacked by some Yankee soldiers. Poor, loyal Daniel was shot and killed, his body still lies where he fell. The Yankee soldiers had me and they were going to rape me and then perhaps kill me, too. Dawson and Sam appeared, don’t ask me why or how, but they were there and they saved me. Dawson was shot by a Yankee while saving my life. I shall be grateful to him forever, just as I’m sure Hunter will be.”

“Kathleen, you know why this man saved you, he is …”

“Stop! Don’t say a word about Dawson Blakely. You have no right. Dawson saved my life and that’s all that matters. For his trouble, he may lose his own life and if there is anything I can do to see that he doesn’t, I will do it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I suppose so, Kathleen, but I can tell you right now, people are going to talk. They’ll know he’s here, they’ll know what happened.…”

“I couldn’t care less what they say. If you do, I’m sorry, and I promise I’ll have Dawson moved just as soon as it’s safe. But this man is not going to die because of what the gossiping gentry of Natchez have to say about him or me.”

“Very well, I won’t argue with you. I’m going to have some coffee, would you care for a cup.” The doctor headed for the door.

“No coffee, thanks, but please ask Sam to come in.”

Doctor Pitt frowned, but summoned the worried black man. Sam eagerly hurried into the room as the doctor went out, closing the door behind him. “Sam,” Kathleen smiled at Dawson’s tall friend, “Doctor Pitt has removed the bullet and he said there’s a good chance Dawson will live. His heart was not hit, but he lost a lot of blood, as you are well aware. But there is hope.”

Sam stood and looked down at Dawson, big tears filling his eyes, “Thank de Lord, thank de Lord.”

Touched greatly by the concern written on his face, Kathleen moved around the table and put a hand on his shoulder. “Sam, dear Sam, he isn’t going to die. You and I love him too much to let that happen. Stop worrying and go home and get some rest. You saved us Sam, both Dawson and me, and I will never forget it. We’ll keep Dawson here until he regains consciousness, then together we’ll move him home. You may feel free to come here anytime you like to check on him and I will remain by his side.”

“Yes, ma’am, Miz Kathleen,” Sam said, blinking back his tears.

“Goodnight, Sam. Come over tomorrow, maybe by then Dawson will be awake.”

After Sam left, Doctor Pitt stuck his head back in the room and said, “Kathleen, there’s nothing more I can do. I’m going to bed. Do you want to go upstairs and lie down for a while? If you do, I’ll stay with him.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it. Go back to sleep, Uncle Rembert, and … thanks.”

“Goodnight, Kathleen. Wake me if there’s any change.”

Kathleen took up her vigil beside Dawson. She pulled up a chair, took a seat, and reached out for his hand. Holding his large hand in both of hers, she looked at his face and whispered, “Dawson, I told you I wouldn’t let you die,” and she smiled.

When the sun rose, Kathleen still sat at Dawson’s side, her eyes never leaving his face. Slowly, Dawson Blakely moved his head a little and the dark eyes opened slightly. The first thing he saw was Kathleen looking down at him.

“Kathleen?” he whispered.

“Yes, Dawson, yes. I’m here.” She rose and leaned to him.

“Kathleen, darling,” he grimaced, staring up at her.

“What is it, dear?”

“You, you’re hurt. Your lip is split, it’s been bleeding.”

“Oh, Dawson,” she laughed and kissed his forehead. “My lip’s all right, everything’s fine now.”

The events of the previous night flooded back into Dawson’s now-thinking brain and he grabbed Kathleen’s arm, a worried expression on his face, “Oh my God, now I remember. Darling, did they hurt you, were you …”

“No Dawson. I’m not even scratched, you got there in time. It’s you who are wounded and you must be quiet; don’t excite yourself, please. They didn’t touch me, Dawson, you stopped them.”

“Thank God,” he said, smiling.

When Sam came at 10
A.M.,
he was met by a happy, smiling Kathleen, “Sam, he’s awake, he’s going to get well.”

“Miz Kathleen, let’s get him home, there be where he be most comfortable.”

“Yes, Sam. He’s already begging me to take him there.”

Kathleen went to Sans Souci that noon where she was met by a relieved Hannah and Scotty. She hugged her son and held him in her arms saying, “Darling, I saw your father and he is fine, just fine. He told me to give you a big kiss for him,” and she kissed the laughing face over and over.

“Honey, what in de world is you doin’ in that get up,” Hannah stood beside the embracing pair.

“Hannah, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through,” but she was laughing, happy to have been with her husband, happy Dawson was going to live.

After several more hugs and kisses from Scotty, the little boy went out to play. She turned to Hannah and told her everything that had happened. She embraced her mammy while Hannah cried over Daniel’s death, “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I know you two were very close. I loved Daniel, too, and we shall all miss him. He was brave and good and he died defending me.”

“He was a good ole man,” Hannah sniffled, “we sho gonna miss Daniel. I jest be mighty grateful Doctor Hunter and Mister Dawson be all right.”

“Yes, Hannah, now come upstairs and help me get cleaned up.”

Hannah helped Kathleen bathe and dress, then fixed her something hot to eat. After the meal, Kathleen rose from the table and said, “Hannah, I must go now. I’m going to Dawson’s.”